Ingvar's Tale
by Sarkrin
Summary: My first story about one of my character Ingvar. Ingvar a dragon of the far north is just trying to live life as an explorer of his frozen home. While returning to a village to rest through the hard winter he will begin the greatest journey of his life, as Malefor's armies invade and try to conquer the north.


**_Ingvar's Tale_**

**_Chapter 1_**

The Frozen waste was obscured by the blizzard, and through it wandered Ingvar, a glacial white dragon, he blended in well with the snow. That however did not help him much at the time. For days he had been wondering the forsaken glacier trying to cut across before winter struck in full. He was trying to reach a small wolf village where he knew he would be welcome and be fed through the long harsh winter of the far north.

The summer had not been particularly kind to Ingvar, the normal trade caravans from Dante's Freezer had not come like normal and hunting was scarce all summer long. Growling against the buffeting wind Ingvar tucked his wings in and pushed on through the storm, thankful that he was an ice dragon and at the very least wouldn't freeze. Though he was making good progress Ingvar still cursed his luck in having to take the open glacier route over his usual mountain pass.

Almost every year Ingvar would make the trip to the small unnamed village to spend the winter with the wolves, who could usually catch enough fish to last through the winter. The few years he hadn't spent in the village were truly rough years of a vicious struggle to find enough food in the near constant storms to survive. So he usually made sure to cut off his nomadic travels in time to reach the mountain pass which was relatively sheltered from the rest of the north and would take him most of the way to the village. There were only two ways he could reach the village, go through the pass, or make a long exposed trek across a glacier that was usually to windy to safely fly across.

This year however, Ingvar had arrived at the pass to find it blocked, part of the mountain and slid down and made the way impassable. With the section being to narrow to fly, and the to unstable to excavate before winter, Ingvar had been forced to make the journey over the glacier. It was a journey Ingvar had made only twice before and dreaded making again. It had not started out too bad, the day when he made it to the ice plain was fairly calm and he even managed to get some flying in. At night however the storm had hit burying Ingvar in the ice hut he had built to sleep in. It took most of the next morning to dig himself out. Since then he has had at time literally drag himself across the gale swept ice.

He figured he had maybe two days left to his journey, though considering the rate the storm was growing it could be considerably longer. Grunting he dragged himself over another ice mound, perhaps the only real landscape on the glacier was rolling mounds of ice, and stabbed his tail spikes in ahead of him as an anchor. He continued like this for some time, using his ice breath to raise shields against the wind when he needed a breather, Ingvar eventually reached the edge of a wide crevasse he grinned knowing that the gap indicated he was over halfway across.

Ingvar knowing the only way he would ever get across the gap in this weather would be to climb down one side and back up the other decided to stop and try to find a sheltered space large enough for him to spend the night and get a fresh start early in the morning. Trying to travel at night on this path was almost akin to suicide. He would know considering that he had been foolish enough to try it, and almost got ripped away by the winds for his trouble.

Beginning his climb Ingvar carefully maneuvered down the uneven surface often using his element to fuse himself to the ice or create claw holds. Eventually Ingvar reached the bottom and leaned against the icy wall catching his breath. 'seriously!' he thinks to himself looking up at the fairly long climb he had just descended, blinking as snow down from the snow landed in his eyes. Wiping the snow off his head h looked for a conveniently placed ledge or smaller crevasse out of the snow and somewhat off the floor so he wouldn't be buried. Finding such a ledge he in a sheltered alcove he dragged in some snow so he wouldn't have to lay on rough ice the whole night. Lying down he made himself as comfortable as possible and drifted to sleep. 

* * *

Ingvar bolted awake "WHA-!" he tried to before rolling off the ledge and out into the main crevasse. Jumping to his feet he looked around not quite sure what woke him, but knowing something must have. Listening he realized what it was, the normal shrieking gale had died down to a point where he could hear the glacier shifting around him. Overjoyed with this turn of events he made short work of the climb out of the crevasse and discovered he might actually be able to fly part of the day, and maybe even reach the village before nightfall.

With a happy roar he took flight enjoying the feeling of being able to stretch his wings after days of tightly holding them against the wind. Ingvar looked down as the white landscape of the glaciers icy plains fell away and sped past below, marveling at the turn his luck had taken. As the icy plains passed below his mind began to drift to the comfort that awaited him in the wolf village, food, a safe place to stay, someone to talk to, but most of all food, he was starving.

Ingvar had befriended the village years ago when he had helped them relocate from a dangerous maze of ice caverns to a relatively sheltered cove that had enough thin ice during summer to fish. Since then Ingvar was always welcomed back anytime, but he only really stayed there during the winter. The rest of the time was spent wandering the north looking for new discoveries to explore and new places to be. Yes indeed, quite the wander he had made of himself. Thinking more to himself he began to wonder why things were so hard this year and if the village had been affected, they were usually very isolated and rarely had visitors beyond himself.

The wind began picking up again just as Ingvar spotted the edge of the glacier that he knew led down to a forested valley of rugged trees. Picking up his pace he was determined to beat the winds and at the very least make it off the glacier to the shelter of the forested slopes. He didn't quite make it, a large gust of wind hitting him and throwing Ingvar into a barrel roll just as he passed over the edge of the glacier. Righting himself he barely managed to direct his landing into a large snow drift.

Ingvar crashed into the snow drift almost digging into the middle. Thrashing around he managed to dig himself out, and stumble down the soft slope shaking off powder as he went. Looking around he could see he was right at the edge of the forest, many of the trees were bare, and the other had their boughs piled high with frost. Out in the open great flurries of flakes were being kicked up by the wind encouraging Ingvar to quickly make his way into the sheltered woods.

Grinning happy to have made such miraculous progress Ingvar raced off determined to reach the village this night and sleep besides a warm fire. Not that the cold really bothered him, but warmth was still quite a luxury he enjoyed when possible. Thinking of this he quickened his pace soon he was rushing through the forested hill and soon could smell the sea and smoke of the cook fires in the village.


End file.
